Prejudice Pigs
by Magicgirl29
Summary: Blaine is a young man who is bored with the way society works. He is different. Polite to all the family servants, kind and values every living person. Kurt is the only teenage servant working for the Anderson family, he accepts his low status in society. That doesn't mean that Blaine - who had no idea about the young servant until recently - agrees with him.
1. Prologue

**Note: Mrs Amaro. 'Amaro' is Italian for 'bitter'. **

"_Life is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, in which smiles, and kindnesses, and small obligations, given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart and secure comfort"- Humphrey Davy. _

**0000**

Blaine Anderson was bored. Simple as that. He was a very bored sixteen year old man. He was different from the others that lived within the mansion, in more ways than one. He made sure to always thank the servants and cooks, although most of them were bitter and never accepted his appreciation. His father was a very wealthy man, but he was also very strict with the servants. He knew that in society everybody had their places, everybody had their status, and everybody had their duties. Because he was sixteen his father was trying to make Blaine see that marriage was not such a bad thing. But, after witnessing his son's reluctance, he agreed that he would let him wait a few more years before trying to get him a partner. Cooper would inherit the family wealth after their father's death, providing them with financial security – but still, the boys had to marry at some point to increase their family's wealth and status further. It all felt ridiculous to Blaine, like he was born into the wrong century or something like that. It amused him that after growing up in this place he still managed to discover new rooms. He mused to himself that he had only entered some of them once and then neglected them, deeming them drab and far too pristine for his casual tastes. He pushed a door open and peaked in.

The room was large; it was most commonly used for some of the smaller dances that they sometimes hosted. It was daunting to think of how quiet this room now was, without the meaningless drivel that pretentious people spouted echoing off the walls. In the centre of the room, crouched on his knees beside a splintered bucket was a young man, who didn't seem as old as most of the servants at their mansion. His father had always said that training servants who were children or nearing the age of thirteen was a waste of time, they always got servants into their late twenties and older. Those who knew and accepted the harsh realities of life. So then why was a man so young hunched over, scrubbing the marble floor? Slowly Blaine entered the room further and closed the door softly, careful not to allow it to make a noise. He approached cautiously. The boy had light alabaster skin with brunette hair that defied gravity, swooping up attractively to one side. He was wearing a white buttoned up shirt that was evidently too big, with the sleeves rolled up, and black trousers that were torn at the knees. Blaine vaguely wondered what would have caused the rips on his trousers. The boy looked very tired indeed. His face had a slightly red tint, and his knuckles had gone white from scrubbing for so long. Bags stuck out under his eyes as though they were painted on. Speaking of eyes, Blaine had never seen such captivating blue eyes. He must have been staring, because soon enough the boy raised his head – locking those striking eyes onto him.

"Master Anderson," The boy started. His voice was light and soft, but sounded nice and calming. "Is there something I can do for you?" Blaine shook his head back into focus.

"Oh. Uhm, no, nothing at all. But thank you." He said. The boy nodded. Blaine almost had to ask how the boy had known who he was, but stopped himself when he realised how foolish it would sound. "I don't think I've seen you around before." He pointed out. The boy squeezed the sponge over the bucket.

"I have being working here for a year, sir. My father had fallen very ill, but the treatment he would need was quite expensive. I started to work here after your father found me on the street," He wiped his forehead of sweat with his arm before continuing. "But my father did not make it." Blaine noticed the pained look that crossed the boy's face. The deep anguish caused by the loss of a father who, Blaine guessed, meant more to him than anything else in the world. "I had nowhere else to go; our family was quite poor – my mother also died when I was eight. So your father kept me on here."

"I… I'm so sorry; I don't know what to say…" The boy just shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes were cast down at the floor. He paused a moment before he continued scrubbing. "My father usually does not take in young people to become servants." It was a statement, but clearly he was expecting this boy to answer regardless.

"Your father does not like to _train_ new servants, Mr Anderson. Doing so would mean that they might mess up and make him, or the family, look bad. I have been a servant since I was six years old. I know exactly how to behave, and know my place." He squeezed the sponge into the bucket again and stood up, picking up the handle. Blaine was a little surprised to see the boy was only slightly taller than him.

"How old are you?" Blaine wondered. The servant looked at him and paused for a moment, as though trying to remember his age, which made Blaine feel a bit bad. He had heard of servants being so dehumanised that they would even forget their own ages.

"I'm seventeen, sir." The boy answered flatly, as though he simply did not care or see the relevance in discussing his age. Blaine didn't know how he felt about it. This boy was a year older than him, he had never spoken to another person his own age, or close to his age, before – well, aside from the people that his father tried to get him to consider marrying.

"And your name?" The boy tilted his head.

"Kurt Hummel, sir." Blaine almost winced at the amount of times this person was calling him 'sir', 'master', or 'Mr Anderson'. He liked the name though. Kurt. It was a nice name. Blaine smiled a little bit and held out his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Kurt. I am Blaine." Kurt glanced at Blaine's hand and shuffled his feet awkwardly. At first Blaine thought that Kurt was uncomfortable around him, but then he noticed something. Kurt's hands were red raw with a couple of cuts and bandages – undoubtedly caused by hard work.

"I know your name, sir."

"No, I mean, you can call me Blaine." He slowly lowered his hand when he realised that the contact might irritate Kurt's hand. The boy shook his head.

"It would not be proper of me," He started. "I am your servant, I am beneath you." Blaine stared at him. _This _was why he felt like he was in the wrong century. He didn't agree that one person could be valued more than another simply because of how much money they had. It was ridiculous. If Kurt were to grow ill and pass away it was horrifying to think that nobody would really care that much. He would be taken off the earth as though he had never been on it. The thought made him sad.

"Don't say that," Blaine started. "No-one is worth less than another person. I'm younger than you, for goodness sake." He was getting frustrated. Kurt looked at him in surprise, though confusion was definitely evident on his face too. The only kindness he had been shown while at the mansion was simply the fact that he had a roof over his head – even if that roof was not a home to him.

"Master, please relax," Kurt said, holding up his free hand in an attempt to calm him. "This is simply how things are." Blaine, in a very ungentlemanly like fashion, threw up his hands in frustration.

"I don't like things the way they are!" Kurt watched him, unsure of what he was supposed to do in this situation. The doors opened then, and Mr Anderson stepped into the room. He was a cleanly shaven man with dark hair and piercing eyes. Blaine's father took in the scene and approached them.

"Is there a problem here?" He asked his son. Blaine shook his head.

"No, I just met Kurt." Blaine said, gesturing to the servant. Mr Anderson nodded and directed his attention to Kurt, who – Blaine noticed – shrank back ever so slightly.

"Hummel, did you finish your work?" He asked. Kurt nodded and glanced down at the floor. Mr Anderson nodded. "Really? Because I believe that in addition I also asked you to empty the chamber pots. But because you were not around Mrs Amaro was forced to do it herself. She is far from pleased. What do you have to say for yourself?" Recognition appeared in Kurt's slightly widened eyes. He felt himself growing slightly paler, making the bags under his eyes all that more clear.

"I'm sorry, sir, I was so preoccupied that I didn't-" A push. A gasp. That was all it took. Mr Anderson had shoved Kurt roughly in the chest. Under normal circumstances it would have amounted to nothing more than a show of aggression. But as it was, Kurt's body had been weakened by hard labour. He stumbled back in surprise, the bucket flying out of his hand and spilling all over him as he hit the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed as he banged his head on the floor. He groaned softly and brought a hand to the back of his head, sitting up.

"Now look at what you have done. Clear up this mess and get back to work. You're needed out in the garden, and because you have been messing around, you do not have time to change into dry clothes." Blaine stared at his father, he really wanted to say something but he was too shocked to form a coherent sentence. When his father left the room he knelt by Kurt's side, not caring about the spilled water. Kurt was shivering already. Blaine touched the boy's arm, recoiling by just how cold the water really was.

"My goodness, you are freezing," Blaine hurriedly took off his expensive black coat, but as he moved to put it on Kurt's shoulders, he was surprised when the boy raised a hand to stop him. "Kurt?"

"Sir, I appreciate the kindness, but I cannot." It suddenly dawned on Blaine that the tears in Kurt's jeans must have been caused by aggressive mistreatment inflicted by his – Blaine's- father.

"You shall freeze to death if you do not take this." Blaine insisted, but still Kurt turned his head away. He knew that Kurt probably was dying to ask for help right now, desperate for sleep or anything that would be less of a burden on his aching and tired body. But Blaine suspected that it was either pride, or fear that prevented Kurt from asking for help. "Please, Kurt."

"You are the first person here to call me by my first name," Kurt commented quietly, his tone seemed indifferent. Blaine couldn't depict how Kurt was feeling when he made that comment. "Usually it is simply 'Hummel' or merely degrading terms of address." He did wonder what other people called Kurt if they didn't call him 'Hummel'.

"Well, with your permission, I would like to call you by your name." Blaine spoke kindly, gently moving Kurt's hand aside and draping his coat over the shaking boy's shoulders. Kurt's head remained turned away for a short moment, processing everything. Then he realised that he had yet to clean up the mess.

"If you will excuse me, sir, I must clean this up. Dinner will be served shortly, so you should meet with your parents in the dining room." Blaine looked at him.

"Are you giving me an order?" Kurt's eyes widened slightly but all Blaine did was chuckle softly. "I am kidding, Kurt, do not look so worried around me. We are friends, right?" Kurt sucked in a breath.

"Sir, it would not appro-" He started.

"Oh, I was not asking. We are friends. You are an interesting person, Kurt. I do hope to learn your story." He smiled gently at him. As he turned away he was almost certain that he heard a flicker of a chuckle coming from the less fortunate boy. But because it was so faint and distant, it could have been mistaken for nothing at all.


	2. Stories

"_Even when we have physical hardships, we can be very happy." - Dalai Lama._

**0000**

After finishing up in the garden Kurt returned to the servants' quarters in the basement of the mansion, clutching Blaine's black coat tightly to his shivering frame. He still couldn't get his head around what Blaine might be thinking. First the young man hadn't even noticed that Kurt had been working there for a year, and second he seemed like one of the most un-prejudiced people Kurt had ever met. As he descended the creaky stairs Kurt's mind drifted back to thoughts and memories of his father, back when he was still alive. Burt had been a terrific father. Despite being poor his father still managed to somehow get the best out of life, urging Kurt by telling him that settling means giving up. It seems like Kurt is simply settling now. Doing exactly what he is told and enduring harsh treatment just to ensure a roof over his head and food in his stomach. His eyes slowly slid closed and a small breath left his lips. Instantly the door before him slammed open to reveal a short, skinny woman. She had white hair and many wrinkles, each wrinkle an indication of every sacrifice and hardship endured in her life. She wore a mean expression as she studied him, but slowly the expression melted into concern. She was the housekeeper.

"Mrs Amaro," He started apologetically. "I am sorry I neglected to empty the chamber pots." She sighed and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Did Mr Anderson do that to you, boy?" She asked, gesturing with one hand to his drenched – and now transparent – shirt. Kurt glanced down and then up. He didn't need to answer her with words. "Come on down, let's get you cleaned up." He nodded and followed her through the doorway. Mrs Amaro was a widowed woman with no children, yet she still proved to be a decent motherly figure to Kurt, Maria and Justin. Maria was a young woman in her early twenties who handled the cooking and cleaning, she was often the person who worked with Mrs Amaro the most. She had been quite reserved at first, but slowly she was able to start opening up and conversing with the other servants. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a tight bun that kept a painted smile on her face whenever called upon by Lady Anderson. Justin was the carriage driver and butler. He would escort new guests to their rooms should they stay over, he would be assigned to care specifically for the guests, and if they had no guests or escorts to make then he would simply help the other servants. He was in his mid-twenties, contrary to Mr Anderson he was not cleanly shaved and appeared to look much older than he was in reality. "Change into that." Kurt turned just in time to catch another white shirt which seemed to have been drying by the small fire they had. Grateful for the warmth he gently hung up Blaine's coat and tore his shirt off his head, replacing it in favour of the warmer shirt.

"Thank you, Mrs Amaro." He said gratefully, causing a respectable nod from the older woman. The woman's eyes settled on the black coat that Kurt had hung up.

"What is that?" She asked as she approached the hook. Kurt watched her.

"Blaine Anderson," He told her, causing her to look startled. "He was with me in one of the empty ballrooms. When Mr Anderson pushed me over and the water spilled Blaine insisted I take his coat." Kurt picked up a bottle of nearby water and took a quick drink of it, careful to leave enough water in it should anyone else choose to be have a drink. Mrs Amaro's expression did not change.

"You must return it immediately!" She said sharply, as though surprised Kurt had even accepted it to begin with.

"I was not going to keep it," He said incredulously, looking back at her. "It was a loan until I could change." Mrs Amaro approached him and gently placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Listen, dear," She began softly. "I am very happy that the young master was kind to you. But you know how it will look if a servant is seen with that coat, it may even get young Blaine in trouble with his parents. He's a good boy that one and he's very rare. They don't have gentlemen like him around anymore." Kurt's eyes became sad; he knew her words were true. She was not speaking to be a critic, or to be cruel. She was telling him the honest truth he needed to hear. She was concerned for him; she was like the mother that Kurt had lost long ago.

"I know," He admitted. "If my father were here now, I bet he would be significantly disappointed with me." Mrs Amaro shook her head.

"No, my dear, he would be very proud indeed," She began, causing Kurt to slowly look her in the eyes. "Life is very hard. But as long as you keep a good heart, as long as you remember your value as a person… then you will never lose yourself."

"We are servants. If one of us dies down here the master will replace us as though we don't matter." He replied dejectedly and matter of factly.

"Oh, that is where you are wrong," She told him with a twinkle in her eyes. "It will matter to me. It will also matter to Maria and Justin. Everyone has at least one person by their side, no matter their status in society. Don't let their prejudice dehumanise you, Kurt, I have never let them do so to me." She gave him an honest smile that contagiously spread to him. He hugged her.

"Thank you," He said as he embraced her. "You would have been an excellent mother." He mumbled gently, causing her to rub his back calmly – just like his mother used to do.

"Is everything alright?" Asked a nearby voice. Kurt parted from Mrs Amaro and saw Justin leaning in the doorframe. Kurt gave him a sheepish smile as he nodded. "Kurt?" Justin and Maria, like Kurt, never really had the chance to stop and talk much. When the three did have a conversation they never said each others names, so it was weird to hear his name come from the voice of yet another person.

"I'm quite alright," He replied with a nod. "Tell me, have the family had their dinner?"

"They finished dining not long before you came back down." He informed him with a nod. Kurt took a deep breath and plucked the coat from the hook. "What're you doing with that?" Justin asked with a puzzled expression.

"I'll fill you in." Mrs Amaro told him. Justin shrugged and let Kurt pass him. Eventually Kurt managed to make it to Blaine's room. He knocked twice on the door and waited patiently.

"Come in." A voice called out from within. Kurt opened the door slightly and slipped inside the room as silently as a ghost, before closing the door again with a soft click. "Kurt?" Blaine was looking at him with mild surprise, after getting over this he gave him a small smile and walked over. Kurt simply walked past him and to the wardrobe, where he grabbed a coat hanger and hung up Blaine's coat.

"Thank you, sir," He said calmly, keeping his eyes on the coat as he hung it up. "For the kindness." He could feel Blaine's eyes burning holes in his back, so he turned around and straightened his back.

"You don't have to thank someone for being kind," Blaine said, walking towards him. "It's human nature." From here Kurt could appreciate just how bright Blaine's hazel eyes were. And his hair, which Kurt could tell was naturally curly, was slick and smooth. That hair gel was practically a prison.

"It should be human nature," Kurt shrugged. A look crossed his face and he seemed to be under the impression that he had forgotten himself in the presence of Blaine. "Oh, forgive me, sir, how rude of me!" He babbled animatedly. Blaine was startled at first but he slowly gave him a warm smile. He put a hand on Kurt's arm, calming him.

"It is quite alright; say whatever you like around me, I do not mind." Kurt sighed in relief and let his shoulders sag slightly. Blaine was really cute, Kurt had to admit. Wait! He can't think that! He internally slapped himself for thinking such things. "Are you okay?" Kurt looked him in the eyes and lost his voice. He simply nodded. Blaine walked over to the window where there were two chairs, he gestured to them both – inviting Kurt to join him. Kurt walked over hesitantly as Blaine lowered himself into one of the chairs. Kurt did not sit. "Let us talk."

"About what, sir?" Kurt asked, confused. He heard Blaine sigh while a look of frustration mixed with sadness crossed his face.

"I have told you, call me Blaine." When Kurt said nothing in response he continued speaking. "Let us talk about you. I meant what I said. I do very much want to know your story."

"My story does not end with a happily ever after." Kurt pointed out sheepishly as he slowly lowered himself into the chair offered to him. "Many stories that do are almost always fake."

"You like to read then, I assume?" Blaine asked.

"My mother taught me when I was very young. Most who are servants do not always get the proper education they need. But my mother was very intelligent because she was a private tutor to the ladies that we worked for." A small and gentle smile came to the boy's face as his eyes glistened with ghostly memories.

"She must have been an amazing woman." Blaine spoke carefully.

"Oh, indeed," Kurt agreed. "Truly an exceptional woman."

"Kurt," Blaine started quietly. "What happened to her?" Kurt's face darkened and contorted with anguish. He looked down and closed his eyes, trapping unshed tears and refusing to let them escape. "Was she ill, like your father?"

"No," He said bitterly. "She was killed. S-Some homeless man saw her pass in the street. She had some bread with her, and he was desperate. He attacked her and stole the bread. Guess he didn't know his own strength." Blaine watched carefully as he noticed Kurt's hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned ghostly white. The pale boy's face was now flushing with colour as his body shook slightly – both from rage and misery. Blaine couldn't believe what he was hearing. To have lost both parents in such cruel ways, and on top of that have no-one else to turn to. To be unable to grieve properly without being scolded, because you must finish the chores set by a wealthier family. That was cruelty in itself.

"I am so sorry, Kurt, I wish there was something I could do. I wish you didn't have to be a servant." Blaine said earnestly, moving his chair so that it was closer to the less fortunate boy. He put a hand on his back, but Kurt did not seem to notice.

"I have no choice," His voice was higher now. He was fighting to keep it steady, and seemingly inwardly slapping himself for his inability to do so. "I have to survive somehow, it is what they would want. It is a hard life." And now he was crying. Blaine immediately forgot about appearances and sophistication as he rose to his feet and pulled the boy up, hugging him tightly. Kurt settled himself into the embrace, finally letting out what he had fought so hard to keep in. Blaine wasn't sure how long they had stayed like that. Seconds? Minutes? He didn't care. "I-I apologise." Kurt eventually said, pulling away and turning his back. It was no secret that he had been crying, but he seemed to want to save himself from further embarrassment. He did not like for anyone to see him cry. "How weak I must look right now." He mumbled. Blaine shook his head.

"No, I just think you've been strong for far too long." Blaine said softly and put a hand on Kurt's shoulder. Said boy froze under the touch. "Everyone will shed tears at some point in their life, do not be ashamed. I am not here to judge you." Kurt stopped sniffling. His back was still facing Blaine, but nevertheless Kurt turned his head slightly. Though he was not facing his master, he was still listening to his words. "I would like to know more about you, Kurt Hummel, though I think it would be best to take small steps."

"Sir, forgive me for asking, but why the interest?" Kurt asked genuinely. "I do indeed doubt that the background of a servant is beneficial to anything."

"Everyone needs someone, Kurt. I know you have the other servants, but you are all so very busy." This was indeed very true. Kurt knew that Justin, Maria and Mrs Amaro had their stories – everyone has stories. But Kurt had never had a minute alone with them to actually speak. They took care of each other, but they were blind to each other's full identities.

"Then why have you shown interest in me? Why not the other servants?" He asked.

"Because out of all the servants I have seen… You were the only one who seemed detached and almost indifferent." Kurt said nothing to that because he knew it was true. Maria usually hummed old songs as she worked, and no-one seemed to mind. Justin was always focussed and warm spirited to everyone he met. And Mrs Amaro… Sure she had her moments where she was not very happy, but she still had a steely determination that she would use to battle through life like a soldier. "So, one day, will you tell me your full story?" Blaine asked as Kurt excused himself and walked to the door. He paused.

"My story is a simple one."

"Ah, but every story has the ability to create a new chapter. Plot twists, Kurt, I'm sure you are familiar with that term." A small smile tugged at Kurt's lips as he slid out of the room with silent grace.

_Note: Thank you, everyone, for the outstanding reviews! I am so glad you like the story. This story is inspired by Longbourn by Jo Baker and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. _

_Coming up next, a lot of you already guessed it, we see an ENTIRE CHAPTER of Kurt's point of view. The chapter will show Kurt's point of view from his past. Please review if you liked this chapter! _


	3. The boy who wanted to fly

**Note: So someone asked me to say how frequently I'd be updating. The thing is, I also have another story I'm consistently updating and I'm finishing my final year of college so I'm making the transition to University. I do not have much time usually so I can't give a schedule to when a chapter will be updated as I plan on putting a lot of time and effort into these chapters. I know how it will play out, who will be in the story and even how it will end. I am still going to keep updating but I can't give out a set time because I may not be able to update in time with a schedule. **

"_In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." - Robert Frost._

**0000**

I have always loved stories, ever since I was little. And here's my story.

**Once upon a time there was a boy**

_My name is Kurt Hummel, I'm eight years old! At the moment I'm in my room in the basement of my master's home. I'm wearing a dark grey jumper that practically buries me, while also wearing tattered trousers. I shivered against the coldness of the damp room and wrapped my arms around myself. I had just finished tending to the gardens, it did not help that it was the dead of winter either. I raised my eyes when I saw the door slowly open. I smiled when my mum walked into the room with a book tucked under her arm. _

"_How's my little man?" She asked softly. Her voice was like music, and somehow I didn't mind being poor. I have all I could need- my mother and father. Nothing could hurt me as long as they were around. "I am sorry that I am late back, sweetie, but I've brought your story." She set herself down on my bed, allowing me to cuddle up to her. The only story I could really remember was 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' and though it wasn't a happy tale, I still enjoyed it. The extended poem was unique and amazed me. The poem was from 1798. Mum told me that learning to understand poetry meant that I would be able to truly appreciated novels for their clever use of language techniques. The symbolism in the poem astounded me, and would later help me notice symbolism in little things in books. _

"_Poor Mariner," I mumbled to myself. "But he still shouldn't have shot the Albacross." _

"_Albatross." Mum corrected with a soft giggle. I giggled in reply and read the poem quietly along with my mum, occasionally flushing in embarrassment when I said certain lines entirely wrong. _

"_How was your day, mummy?" I asked innocently, looking up at her curiously. Mum's smile was soft and angelic as she ruffled my hair, causing me to gasp and frantically try and fix it. _

"_It was lovely, dear, the young master is learning very quickly." I nodded and clapped my hands happily. Just then dad tapped lightly on the door and walked in with a tired smile. I hopped off the bed and ran to him. Dad lifted me up and spun me around, making me squeal. "Well hello there." Mum chuckled as she walked over. Dad held me in his arms and smiled as mum got closer. They both kissed and I pretended to throw up, teasing them light-heartedly. Dad rolled his eyes._

**Once upon a time there was a boy who wanted to fly**

"_Don't make me dangle you upside down." He threatened. I stuck my tongue out at him, causing him to raise his eyebrows. My mum and dad shared a look over my shoulder. Suddenly, before I could even react, the world spun and I was dangling upside down. I screeched and flailed wildly, covering my eyes._

"_Put me dooown!" I exclaimed loudly. _

"_Did you hear something, dear?" I heard mum ask. I opened my eyes slightly and saw her cross her arms. _

"_Nothing at all." I heard dad laugh. I continued to flail._

"_Stooop!" I whined. Eventually dad set me down on the floor. I pouted, crossing my arms and frowning at him. But my dad's chuckling face made me smile again. _

"_Sweetie," Mum said, kneeling down next to me. I turned my attention to her. "I forgot to say earlier, but I have to go into town. The cook needs some more bread and everyone else is busy."_

"_I could go get it for you!" I beamed up at her, eager to help in any possible way. Mum's smile always seemed to encourage me. _

"_Thank you, sweetie, but it's late and I can't have you out so late. Growing boys need their sleep." _

That was the last time I'd seen her alive…

_I woke up with a gasp. The thunder exploded outside the window, rain soon following. I could hear the mutterings and shuffles of the servants moving around outside my room. I dragged my blanket with me as I scooted over to the window. There was something about the dark sky that concerned me. There was one star that shined brighter than the rest, and though it was a beautiful sight… I felt as though something had struck my heart. Why was I suddenly so scared? I jumped down from my bed and slowly pushed my door open. People were running back and forth, not noticing me as they shoved their way past. I grunted and fell onto the floor, dazed and confused. Slowly I picked myself up and followed the people that had passed me. I heard a loud cry of pain… From a deep voice…Dad. _

"_NO! ELIZABETH, ELIZABETH!" Daddy screeched. He threw himself to the floor; suddenly he was surrounded by people. I frowned and felt the fear tug at my nerves once again. Why was he crying mummy's name? She's only out getting bread, she won't be late home. I walked closer, trying to preserve these thoughts. 'She's safe, she'll be home soon'. My eyes widened when I saw what my dad was crying about. My mum was lying on the dirty floor, her face pale and her eyes wide and glassy. There was no light in her eyes, she wasn't seeing anything anymore. I didn't look at my dad, I couldn't, my eyes were glued to hers. _

"_Mummy…?" I whimpered. The other servants recognised my presence but they made no move to keep me away. They were crying silent tears, speaking no words. I stepped closer and knelt down on the floor, taking her hand. I recoiled slightly. She was frozen. "Mummy… wake up, please? You're so cold; you can have my blanket if you want." Mummy had always joked that she could fall asleep with her eyes open. Maybe it was a joke… Maybe she was doing just that, and everyone was overreacting. I looked to my dad, seeing his face twisted in anguish. "It's OK, daddy, she's just sleeping." I said comfortingly, but my words didn't seem to mean anything. In fact, they seemed to hurt him even more. _

"_Kurt," Said the footman, kneeling down beside me. He put a hand on my shoulder. "Listen, I was told that your mother was attacked. A homeless man in the streets saw her with the bread, he was desperate. It seems he didn't know his own strength. Some passing soldiers found out which family she belonged to and brought her here. I'm sorry, kid, but she's gone." He had spoken carefully, as though I was going to break if he didn't. I shook my head, the tears building up in my own eyes. _

**Once upon a time there was a boy who wanted to fly… but he couldn't**

"_No, no, mummy is OK," I insisted, watching the man's face twist into pity. "She's just sleeping!" I exclaimed, tears running down my face. Maybe if I willed it enough, it would be true. I was always told that if you want something bad enough, then there is always a way to make it happen. I willed myself to believe she was alive, internally prayed to the god I didn't believe in. I threw myself next to her and cuddled up to her, gripping her shirt tightly in my hands. "Wake up, wake up." I whimpered brokenly. "Don't leave, mummy. Remember you said I could be a writer some day? That's because you've made it possible for me to be able to read. I love you, please don't go." _

The funeral was the worst part. Our master's had shown up to pay their 'respects', and then it was our turn…

"_Why isn't there a headstone?" I asked gravely. I heard my dad sigh from beside me. _

"_You know we can't afford one, buddy." He said gently. I nodded mutely, silent tears rolling down my cheeks. I walked closer and knelt down on the mud. There was one singular flower on the grave. My master had put it there, I knew it. There, resting on the mud, was a camellia blossom. It is tradition that every time a servant dies a camellia blossom should be placed on the grave. I have always hated that tradition. A camellia blossom was a beautiful flower, always seen but its name never usually remembered. The flower was delicate and under-appreciated, when a camellia blossom falls it is silently tragic. Very much like the servants. These flowers were being placed on the graves because of tradition, but also because of other reasons. Some masters did place the flower as a sign of respect, some placed it simply for the tradition to uphold appearances, and some did it spitefully. I was pretty sure it was the latter in this case. I curled my lip in disgust. _

That was the moment I left my innocence behind, I adopted the stony expression that reflected the world I lived in…

"_Kurt, what are you doing?" My father asked. I plucked the flower from the grave and threw it aside. My mother was beautiful, and yes she was under-appreciated by our masters. But when she fell it was not a silent tragedy. It was loud, and painful. So many agonising screams. My heart was ripped out and shattered on the dirty floor. Tragic. The word sounded hatefully sarcastic. Instead I put a lily onto the grave. It was beautiful and bright, but also unique and different. It wasn't easily recognisable because it didn't make an effort to fit in. I admired all these qualities about my mother. The lily also symbolised my sadness in losing her._

"_Remember when you told me that lilies were your favourite, mum?" I asked quietly. Silence. "I listened." I slowly rose to my feet and stepped back. I looked up at my father, and he looked back at me. 'Say something' I found myself thinking. I just want him to say something, anything, to make the pain go away. But he didn't say anything, just took my hand and squeezed it tightly. _

"_You and I against the world, kid." He told me lightly, fighting to control the shake in his voice – but I still heard it. _

And then, of course, things changed. Our master kept us on. But once my dad grew ill, I started slacking off my duties. I wanted to help him, because they wouldn't get him help right away. Once they had noticed my father was deathly ill… they threw us out onto the streets. They didn't want another servant dying in the house, but they were content to throw us out.

My father was staying at the small hospital on the outskirts of town.

"_You, boy," A gruff voice said. I looked up, exhausted. It was my sixteenth birthday, not that it mattered. I had been struggling to find work for a long time, but this world wasn't exactly accepting. I squinted through the grimy fog and pushed my brunette hair up and out of my face. The man was tall and sharp with piercing eyes, and a cleanly shaven face. "I saw you here a few days ago with a man, where is he now?"_

"_My father?" I winced at how dry my voice sounded. "H-He's ill, I got him in a hospital." _

"_How can __**you **__afford a hospital?" He asked harshly, but with a hint of curiosity. I looked away slightly. _

"_I can't," I mumbled. "But I can't find work either. No-one will take a servant off the streets." I could feel him burning holes in me. _

"'_Servant'?" He questioned. I turned my head back, confused by his question. "Just now, you called yourself a servant. Why're you on the streets?" _

"_I have had many masters, each were cruel. Their sons did not take too kindly to me, they saw servants as the scum of the earth. I was the youngest servant there, so things never usually went well." As I said this I pushed my hair to the side, revealing a nasty cut above my eyebrow. _

"_I doubt you would have that problem at my mansion, we have two sons. One does not live with us anymore and the other insists on being polite to everyone, regardless of his social standing." I saw the man roll his eyes. I couldn't help but feel slightly hopeful. "I dislike training new servants, but if you are experienced and know your place then you can work for us." My eyes widened. _

"_A-Are you serious?" I spluttered in surprise. The man simply nodded once and gestured for me to follow him. _

**0000**

_I had been working for the Anderson family for half a year now and I'd barely made enough money to cover half of the hospital treatment. I walked into the room, ignoring the disgusted glances from the doctors who were forced to take care of my father. I lowered myself into the chair beside his bed, and he smiled. _

"_You seem to like it at the Anderson's mansion, Kurt." He spoke lightly. I smiled and nodded. In all honesty, it was better than any of our last work places – even if I sensed that Mr Anderson was still very strict. I had yet to meet either of the sons, one was not living at the mansion and the other just seemed so busy sometimes. _

"_How are you feeling, dad?" I asked, allowing the concern to show in my voice. He waved a hand weakly and chuckled. _

"_I am quite fine, not to worry." _

"_You know that I worry, I can't lose you," I said calmly. "Anyway… I'll eventually get your treatment paid for, you'll be OK." Dad looked at me and put a hand on my arm. He could tell that I was struggling with this. _

"_You will not lose me, Kurt," He tried to assure me. "Just remember one thing." He said. I looked him in the eyes. He was serious now. "Never settle for less than you deserve, settling means giving up. Promise me." _

"_I…" I started. "I promise…" I said hesitantly. We stayed like that together. It happened in slow motion, each agonising second ripping me to pieces. My world shattered and my thoughts blurred. Doctors and nurses filled the room, a long beep sounded as I felt the strength in my father's hand vanish. Tears sprang to my eyes for the first time since mother's funeral. _

"I'm so sorry, dad," I mumble to myself frequently when I awake from the ghostly dreams of my father's disappointed expression. "I had to settle… I had no choice."

**Once upon a time there was a boy… Who never should have wanted to fly in the first place.**

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**Review please!**

**Reference: 'There was a boy who wanted to fly' was a short story created by Chris Colfer's character 'Carson Phillips' in 'Struck by Lightning'. **


	4. Only Human

"_The rich run a global system that allows them to accumulate capital and pay the lowest possible price for labour. The freedom that results applies only to them. The many simply have to work harder, in conditions that grow ever more insecure, to enrich the few. Democratic politics, which purports to enrich the many, is actually in the pocket of those bankers, media barons and other moguls who run and own everything." ― Charles Moore_

**0000**

"Sir, wake up," I heard a voice call out from the darkness. "Mr Anderson, it is time to wake up." Slowly I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly in order to make out the blurry image beside the bed. There was a young man who was gliding around the room busily. I yawned and stretched as I rose from my bed. "Ah, good, you are awake." I gave him a tired smile.

"Do forgive me," I told him calmly. "I did not mean to sleep in so late."

"You have been working very hard recently," The man, Justin, replied as he smoothed out the suit I would be wearing. I do not know much about the servants that work for my family, aside from Kurt of course, but I do know that Justin always seems to be as positive as possible. He was a kind young man who had a steady amount of patience, which is more than I can say for my own parents. "Therefore you will have to forgive the early awakening. A letter arrived early this morning from your tutor, informing us that your lesson will be earlier than usual." I sighed and ran a hand through my loose curls that I had yet to gel back neatly. "And so I have brought your breakfast here for you to eat. Once you are finished we must get you ready." I nodded and sat back down on my bed, picking the tray off the bedside table and placing it on my knee. I watched as Justin crossed the room in a rehearsed manner, grabbing my books and writing equipment from the cupboard in the corner of the room. I ate my breakfast in silence, ensuring I left at least half of the food on the tray so that Justin would be able to also have something to eat before completing his next task. I've learned a lot over the years, one of those things is that the servants do not always eat or drink as much as they should. So if there's nothing I can do to change things completely, I can at least fulfil little gesture or actions to make their lives just slightly easier.

"Justin," I said, looking over at the young man who was busily arranging my books on the desk by the window. He raised his head and, noticing I had finished eating, approached me. "Please eat." Justin looked at the plate to see some toast and meat left over. He looked as though he was going to pick up the plate and accept my offer, however, he then straightened his back and suit jacket.

"Sir, you know this is not proper." He said stiffly, as though trying hard to maintain his appearance.

"I shall not tell anyone else, what harm can this cause?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"With you, a scolding from your parents. With me, I shall lose my job." He said, almost coldly as though I shouldn't have tried to help. I looked at him softly.

"I will not tell a soul, I swear." For a moment he did not speak, but that was because his stomach spoke for him. A loud rumble sounded through the large room, and Justin flushed in embarrassment and quickly started to stutter through his apologies. I simply chuckled good-heartedly. "Eat." With slight reluctance Justin sighed and nodded, taking the tray from me and sitting down to eat. I smiled and patted his shoulder before moving to get ready.

"Your father, sir, has invited a young lady to the mansion. She will be arriving a week from today." I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, glancing over my shoulder at him before walking into the bathroom to have a quick wash. A young lady? That could only mean that father was pushing me for marriage, once again. But he said that he would allow me to wait a couple of years before I was to be married. Then again, my father never was very fair.

"What about the lady that he spoke highly of previously?" I called out from the bathroom. As I waited I splashed water on my face. "Rachel Berry?"

"It seems that your father could not reach an agreement regarding the dowry." I sighed and looked at myself in the mirror. I did not look tired, because I wasn't; I was sitting in the lap of luxury. And I hate it to the core. This is wrong because while I have never worked a day in my life, others have lost their lives… or themselves, while attempting to survive. No-one really lived anymore, everyone survived but never do they live. Ask me what my intention is in life; the answer will simply be to exist. My only passion is music, but in this age music is hugely insignificant – a lot seems to be insignificant currently.

"Who is the new young lady?" I asked as I ran the gel through my hair, taming the mad curls.

"Miss Tina Cohen-Chang." I recognised the name. She was a nice person. She is a very good friend of mine; we both talk a lot while out at the dances held in town. I walked back into the room and started to change into the suit that was hung up. "Sir," He began. I looked at him. "I wanted to thank you." I raised an eyebrow in confusion, wondering what on earth he was talking about. Slowly Justin rose to his feet, placing the tray down lightly on the bedside. There was a small smile on his face. "For being kind to Kurt, you might not know it but you've really helped him."

"I have?" Honestly I was very surprised. "I simply spoke to him and offered my jacket." Still the smile on Justin's face remained.

"I do not know what you have done… but he doesn't seem quite as sad. Well," He paused to contradict himself. "He was crying and he seemed miserable for a moment. But usually he hides this, pretends that he is fine and denies the fact that he has been crying. But… Yesterday he didn't try to hide it; he seemed to have opened up a little more. He allowed us to be at his side and thanked us. Never before has he done so." I stared at him, surprised by what I had heard. "But I admit to being concerned." I saw his hesitation; it was almost as though he was worried about speaking out of place. I motioned for him to continue. "It is not proper for a servant to be treated in the way you treat us."

"What do you mean?" I found myself asking immediately.

"With kindness," That startled me. "If the master were to find out about this… We'd be gone. Servants like us, or in general, are easily replaceable." I closed my eyes briefly, processing this information.

"How is it fair that the majority must suffer to satisfy the minority? Why can it not be that the most fortunate may help the least fortunate?" I found myself wondering aloud. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door, and so my eyes opened just as the door was opened. "Mr Schuester." I greeted half-heartedly. The man smiled and nodded politely to Justin as he left the room.

"How are you doing, Blaine?" I simply smiled at him, and he returned it. Mr Schue seems to think the very same way that I do, although he is much more subtle about it than I. He would not make it clear when conversing with my father, but he would make it very clear when conversing with me. "Seems as though you are still taking care of your servants."

"Yes, sir, of course." I watched as my teacher moved to the table by the window, checking over the latest assignment I had completed for him. I followed him and dropped down heavily onto one of the chairs. My mind was focussed on Kurt, and the things he had told me. I wanted nothing more than to comfort him, or at the very least help him with his duties so that he could rest. But, of course, this would only get him in trouble. I heard Mr Schue trying to get my attention about some sort of equation that he wanted me to solve, but my mind was much too distracted. "Mr Schue, can I not simply play the violin today? My mind is far too distracted for such things." I said, gesturing to the papers and books. Mr Schue raised an eyebrow and seemed concerned.

"What is on your mind, Blaine?" He asked from where he was standing. I looked up at him and sighed, tugging at my collar slightly.

"It is this servant of whom I was not aware of until recently," I began, knowing Mr Schuester would not judge me or speak with my parents about this. "He seemed different from the others. Sadder, more distant. I spoke with him and learned about his upbringing, although, not in very much detail. He has faced more hardships than I know I could bear. I want to help him, but I do not know how." He looked at me sympathetically and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I know you want to help, but there's nothing that can be done. It's a cruel world; all we can do is try to make the best of it." I slumped in defeat. There must be something that I could do, something more than slipping them food and allowing them to take quick breaks in my room – pretending that I needed them to help me with something.

**0000**

My lesson with Mr Schue had just finished, and so I was ready to search through the corridors in search of Kurt. So imagine my surprise when I opened the door and found myself face to face with my, rather displeased looking, father. He frowned and walked more into the room, forcing me to walk backwards to avoid getting in his way. I wasn't sure what the cause of his anger could be this time, I just hoped it had nothing to do with the arranged marriage.

"Blaine, I want to know why you were with Hummel yesterday when I walked in on the two of you." I was slightly startled. Was it now a problem to be in the same room as a servant? Judging by the glare currently burning holes in me, I'd have to say yes.

"I had only just met him, so I was getting to know him a little." His glare intensified and I immediately regretted saying anything at all. I gulped and kept my eyes trained on him. I should be careful with what I say in front of him.

"That boy is a servant, and is beneath us. You do not need to get to know him, he does not matter." I felt myself get angry at that. Despite the fact that I had just told myself to think before speaking, I blurted out what I was thinking before I could stop myself. I balled up my fists angrily.

"That _boy _is called Kurt Hummel, and he's ten times stronger than you think he is. What right do you have to determine the value of a person?" I felt a tight grip on my upper right arm and winced. I really did put my foot in my mouth. I hissed and backed up as he followed me, his grip never letting up.

"What is your deal with that kid?" He snarled. "Has he got something over you or something?" I shook my head, not trusting my voice in case I said anything to incriminate Kurt. "No son of mine will form a _friendship _with someone as lowly as that, do I make myself clear?" I didn't answer right away, how could I? What he was demanding was ridiculous, not to mention unnecessary. I would have said 'no', but two things stopped me. If I didn't agree then I didn't know where his temper would lead him, nor did I know how much of that temper would be directed at Kurt. He tightened his grip and I managed to squirm away slightly.

"I understand." His glare did not fade, but I didn't care because he left the room regardless. I sighed and smirked slightly to myself. You've got to love ambiguous answers. I had no intention of ignoring Kurt; I never actually told my father that I would do so. All I said was that I understood what he was saying. I rushed back to the table and searched through my papers. I needed Kurt to be constantly reminded that he could still harness some hope in this dreary world. Once I found what I needed I rushed downstairs.

"Sir?" I heard a familiar voice. I felt a smile begin to rise on my face. Grabbing the man's hand I wrenched open a door and closed it once we were inside. "Sir, please, I have work to do." I could hear the desperation in his voice and it made me feel slightly guilty.

"I'm sorry, Kurt, I just wanted to give you something." I saw him frown in confusion as I handed over the paper. "Whenever you're feeling down and I can't be there… Just read this." Kurt was just about to read the words, but I didn't want him to read it – not just yet. "Ah, wait!" He looked startled and I felt myself blush for some reason. "You said you were busy… Can I help you out?" He looked doubtful.

"Sir, I do appreciate everything you have been doing, but I can't risk losing my job." And with that he moved towards the corner of the room, opening a cabinet and taking out the cleaning equipment. I watched him sadly. After everything he has already told me I don't blame him for his doubt. He no longer has any family members, and though my father is no saint he has still allowed Kurt to remain working for us. I followed him and picked up one of the mops while Kurt started polishing the furniture. Moments went by in silence before I heard a soft, angelic voice from the other side of the room. I looked up and noticed that Kurt was singing quietly to himself. It seemed as though he had assumed that I'd left the room because I was not in his line of sight.

"_You disappear with all your good intentions_

_And all I am is all I could not mention,_

_Like who will bring me flowers when it's over?_

_And who will give me comfort when it's cold?_

_Oh…"_

I noticed the raw emotion in his voice and slowly lowered myself to sit behind one of the couches, resting my back against it – hidden from Kurt. I peeked around the corner and watched him patiently. His voice was beautiful and flattering. It seemed as though his true self shined through when he expressed himself through song, I vaguely wondered if this was something he did frequently.

"_She took a plane to somewhere out in space,_

_To start a life and maybe change the world."_

The emotion in his voice was so overwhelming. My vision blurred as I felt Kurt's pain radiating off of him in waves. It seemed as though he was struggling to continue, and I had to wonder if the 'she' in the song referred to his deceased mother. Without thinking, because I seem to be doing that a lot lately, I turned back so that I was facing the opposite wall – still hidden from Kurt but now no longer able to see him.

"_See I never meant for you to have to crawl,"_

I looked back and rose to my feet, noticing Kurt's flustered expression as he realised that he was not alone in this room. Slowly I walked closer to him, my feet tapping lightly on the smooth floor as I continued to sing.

"_No I never meant to let you go at all._

_Oh, no…_

_Oh, no…"_

I came to a stop in front of him and watched as he rose to his feet also. I looked him in the eyes, showing him no judgement or criticism.

"_Don't ever say goodbye…" _

I reached for him but he turned away, it wasn't quite rejection. It was more like concern, because I was his master yet here I was singing with him as though our statuses meant nothing. He looked troubled as he rubbed his forehead in thought.

"_See my head aches from all this thinkin',_

_Feels like a ship, God. God knows I'm sinkin'."_

I could see the frustration and confusion building up on his face. He was indirectly letting out his feelings regarding being a servant. I bet it was hard for him to accept that I wanted to help him, considering he has been taught that society works a certain way. It must be frustrating that I'm contradicting things by breaking away from what is expected, that I'm trying to reach out to someone of whom I shouldn't be interested in. I had my questions too, I wanted to know more about the world he lives in, and so with that I belted the next lines.

"_Wonder what you do, and where it is you stay,_

_These questions like a whirlwind… They carry me away."_

Kurt still looked upset. His beautiful eyes… Wait… beautiful? Anyway… His eyes were sparkling with stubborn tears. He seemed to back up slightly, and the power he put behind the words seemed to be directed at me. He had questions he had been wanting to ask but didn't know how to say.

"_Who will bring me flowers when it's over?_

_And who will give me comfort when it's cold?_

_And who will I belong to when the days just won't give in?_

_And who will tell me how it ends?"_

The tradition of placing a flower on the grave of a departed servant. Could that be what he is referring to? It was common to replace a servant after death; it was as though that person did not matter. I knew that most masters left a flower because it was expected, not because it was sincere. Kurt, even if he was older than me, was still only very young. And without his parents he must feel so entirely alone in this world. With no comfort and only the painful embrace of reality, where was he to find happiness? And with no chance of change, how was he to know if he would have a happy future? I sang the next lines because they reflected my frustration with this society, I have no idea how this all started.

"_And how it all begins…_

_Oh, oh love._

_Yeah… Don't ever say goodbye."_

I noticed the look of defeat in Kurt's eyes as I stepped closer. It was almost as though the anger and frustration that fuelled his sadness had left. Now sadness was the only emotion I could see staring me in the face. His voice was light and gentle as he shrugged his shoulders once.

"_I said I'm only human…"_

I watched him sadly. His eyes never left mine and I saw the ghostly tear that glided down his flushed cheeks. The words spoke the truth that everyone else seemed to have forgotten. We were all human, so what right do we have to determine the importance of one over another? I licked my lips and opened my mouth.

"_I said I'm only human…"_

I reached a hand up to brush his tear away just as one of my own tears left my eye. But he was still unsure of me, so he didn't wipe my tear away as he continued to sing the same line with me again another four times. Though I still saw his hand twitch as though he was going to wipe my tears. I dropped my hand and looked at him.

"_I'm human, I'm human…"_

I saw the tears starting to make his body shake. He was going to breakdown, and I was going to catch him. And that's what I did. I held Kurt as he gasped softly and shook in my arms, his voice was caught and he couldn't sing anymore – a silenced bird whose wings had grown tired. I rubbed his back and continued to sing softly.

"_I'm human…"_

We stayed that way and that was when I realised I cared deeply for Kurt. Even when crying he was still amazing and graceful. I would protect him, no… I would help him. Because protection is not what he needs. He needs care and support, because he is strong enough that he feels he can protect himself.

Moments later when Kurt had calmed down, his eyes still red and puffy, I knelt beside him. I'd finished off the work that needed to be done in the room, and Kurt had watched from his place on the couch. I smiled up at him and took the paper out of Kurt's pocket and put it in his hands. He just watched me, his emotions and thoughts hidden entirely by the mask that he was wearing. One day soon I would take that mask away so that he didn't have to shield his feelings. One day soon… He needed time, we'd have to take baby steps for now. Slowly he lowered his eyes and opened his mouth to recite what I had given him.

"**Did you hear about that rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?**

**Proving nature's law is wrong, it learned to walk without having feet.**

**Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams,**

**It learned to breathe fresh air.**

**Long live the rose that grew from concrete**

**When no-one else even cared." **

He raised his head to look at me for a moment and I allowed a small smile to form on my face. There was recognition in his eyes. The original poem had been written using the number '2' as opposed to the actual word. But me being the little grammar nerd I was, I altered it slightly. I put a hand on his arm.

"One thing though," I started. "While the poem says that no-one cares, I want you to know that I do care." Finally I saw his smile, an honest smile that was not hesitant or nervous. I patted his arm and rose to my feet before approaching the door.

"Thank you," I heard him say. "Thank you, Blaine…"

**0000**

**References:**

**Song: Flowers for a ghost by Thriving Ivory.**

**Poem: 'The Rose that Grew from Concrete' - Tupac Shakur.**

**Terribly sorry about the wait everyone, but I hope this chapter makes up for it! **


	5. Irony

**NOTE: Hey, everyone. I'm so sorry for the delay, a lot has been going on. But I bring forth a peace offering. This chapter has two halves – Part 1 will be the main part of the story. Part 2 will be flash backs (I'm not going to say WHAT flash backs, I'll let you read on to find out). Enjoy!**

**0000**

"_The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of those depths." – Elisabeth Kubler-Ross _

**0000**

**Part one – Irony. **

The servants were busily preparing for the guests of which they had only just been informed of. Honestly, this mansion only functions because of the servants. God help the privileged and pampered pigs if they ever find themselves needing to graft for a living. Although, it was comforting to know that not everyone in the mansion was so prejudice. Blaine Anderson had been continuingly showing his gratitude towards the servants and, with the help of Kurt, the other servants were able to put their pride aside and accept the help offered to them.

The dry heat in the kitchen was suffocating, and the chaos threatened to knock Kurt down repeatedly. It certainly was difficult being the youngest servant, especially on the busy days. Little was known to Kurt about the family visiting, all he knew was that the other servants greatly despised the son – this was most likely the reason why they never remembered his name. Maria whizzed past him, too busy to apologise. Strands of her hair either stuck out comically or remained stuck to her head, the sweat working almost like a strong adhesive. Kurt marvelled, even now, at how much food was needed when guests came. He'd be lucky if he ate this amount in a month, let alone a day.

"Kurt!" Kurt raised his head. He was just about to grab the clothes and take them up to Mr Anderson. "Forget those for now, I need you." Justin said as he grabbed Kurt's wrist and dragged him up the stairs. Kurt stumbled all the way up, trying to get his footing right and keep up with Justin at the same time. "I must prepare the carriage to go and collect our _guests._" He spat the word out as though it was a bad taste in his mouth.

"Is it not the job of _their_ servants to transport them here?" Kurt asked as they came to a screeching halt beside the carriage out front. Justin nodded and made sure the horses were firmly attached to the reins.

"Indeed, but it seems that our master wishes to make a good impression," He said, not looking back at Kurt as he spoke. Justin laughed bitterly. "Though I see no reason considering they have met countless times. I have been ordered to go and pick our guests up and transport them back here." Kurt sighed and opened the door to the carriage. It was beautiful, but also rather unnecessary. Was there really any point in the lining of the chairs being gold? Brushing this thought aside he raised his hands and, noticing they were coated in grime, rubbed them on his shirt before carefully pulling back the curtains. The silk material was gentle on his aching hands as he attached them elegantly to one side. A loud knock rocked the carriage as Kurt took this as his signal to vacate.

"That was all the help you needed?" Kurt asked. Justin nodded and looked at the carriage, seemingly baffled.

"Apparently so. I do apologise, Kurt. I was sure this carriage needed a clean-up before departure." Kurt glanced back at the immaculate carriage in wonder and then glanced back at the mansion. By an interesting coincidence Kurt noticed Blaine peeking out of the curtains up on one of the higher floors. Said man gave Kurt a cheeky smile before ducking back into the room. "Kurt?"

"Oh, ah, sorry…" Kurt spoke as he turned back to face Justin, who was watching him questionably. "Say, Justin, tell me about the guests." Justin's face darkened as he leaned against the carriage.

"We do not usually see the mother. The father is a man of pride, but in no means cruel. The son is the person we have a problem with. We do not care for the business that gives them wealth, nor do we care for the brute of a child that thinks himself so important. He is rude and views people like us as the scum of the earth." Kurt tilted his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Most people think that, do they not?" He questioned.

"True, but not like this. You've heard stories, right? Of aristocratic children that physically attack servants and the parents that will not believe a word their servants say?" Kurt felt himself go cold and slightly pale, reminded of his previous masters.

"Yes, I have heard." He said softly. His abrupt change in demeanour had gone unnoticed by Justin, who continued speaking.

"Then there you go." He said simply and pushed off the carriage.

"Has this person harmed any of you before?" Kurt asked hesitantly. Justin shook his head.

"No. He has attempted to, but Master Blaine has always been there to protect us." He explained with a fond smile that Kurt had not seen much of. Kurt felt himself smiling also. "But be warned, the young master cannot always be around us. Our guests may be granted permission to be served by one servant in particular. It was suggested the last time they arrived here. Mr Anderson is quick to please his guests, so he agreed. It is in this case that Master Blaine will not always be around." Kurt felt himself beginning to worry now. If this guest was anything last his previous masters then he definitely needed to worry. It is forbidden, of course, for a servant to restrain or harm anyone of a higher social position than themselves. Before he knew it, Justin had already taken off in the carriage and had disappeared from sight.

"Good morning," The voice from behind startled the young servant as he whirled around. However he let out a breath when he realised the identity of the voice. "Apologises, I didn't mean to scare you. How do you like the carriage?" That cheeky smile was back and Kurt had to resist the erg to roll his eyes before Blaine.

"**One fine day in the middle of the night,**

**Two dead boys got up to fight,**

**Back to back they faced each other,**

**Drew their swords and shot each other."**

Kurt recited the poem with perfect ease, as though he had been repeating it in a rehearsed manner since he had first heard it. Blaine had heard it too, of course. There were many different variations of this poem, and multiple interpretations. So many so that it was impossible to draw out one specific meaning and disregard others. Blaine raised an eyebrow.

"One fine day in the middle of the night?" He asked. Kurt nodded, relieved that Blaine had recognised the poem. "That poem is the most ironic thing I have ever heard of. What are you implying by bringing it up?"

"That we're ironic." Kurt said simply, offering no explanation.

"We are?" He asked and received a nod. "How so?" Kurt took a deep breath.

"I am a servant, and you my master. It is my job by nature to serve you, yet you insist on taking over aspects of my job. Such as: Fixing up the carriage, and cleaning the floors." Blaine was listening intently. "This happened willingly and together. But if this continues, we will be each other's downfall. I will lose my job, and you shall lose society's respect."

"So we're the 'two dead boys'?" Blaine asked hesitantly. Kurt just nodded. "Kurt, come on, there's no issue with me helping out."

"I appreciate all you are doing," Kurt assured him with a smile. "But with what I'm hearing about your guests, they will not appreciate it." But Blaine was not listening to his concerns right now, not since he had seen Kurt's smile.

"I like your smile; maybe you should wear it more often?" Blaine spoke before thinking. Instantly a blush crept to Kurt's cheeks as he took an awkward step back. "Oh, I'm sorry; I just meant that it's nice to see you happy." He rambled. Kurt, oddly, liked to see Blaine this way. He felt like social classes didn't matter when he was around him. But of course they did matter, and if he wanted to keep seeing Blaine then he was going to have to try and not get fired.

"I should go and help the others. We have a lot of work to do." He said simply as he passed Blaine.

"Remember - 'the rose that grew from concrete'." Blaine called out, causing Kurt to give a soft laugh as he entered the mansion.

The rest of the day continued smoothly for Blaine who, much to his irritation, was made to wear an incredibly stiff and drab looking suit in honour of the guests coming to visit. He had met them countless times before, of course, but that did not mean that he liked them. He didn't understand much of what was discussed over the dinner table between the guests and his own parents, but then again he never really cared to begin with. Hearing the patter of hooves against gravel he glanced out of the window to see the carriage pull up outside his home. Recollecting himself he took a deep breath to gather his patience before exiting the room. The servants were gathered by the front door, ready to greet the guest. Blaine's father stood before them.

"Now listen, as I'm sure some of you know, last time our guest visited it was suggested that upon their next arrival they are welcome to select one of you to serve them specifically." He explained, causing Blaine to roll his eyes. "Whoever they choose has no excuse for not serving them accordingly, do I make myself clear?" Each servant nodded and Mr Anderson grunted his approval. Just then the doors opened and a man and his son stepped into the building. The man had a moustache and beard which was an aging mixture of white and grey that matched his hair. The son stepped in after him. He had short brown hair and seemed to be in a fair build, it would not be too far-fetched to assume he would have excelled in certain outdoor sports. Blaine noticed the way Kurt had stiffened and, if possible, had paled considerably.

"Ah, Mr Karofsky," Welcomed Blaine's father as he shook the hand his guest. Paul smiled and patted his host's hand in a friendly manner. "And Dave." The son grinned and nodded his head in acknowledgement. "As suggested last time, any servant is yours." Paul barely even needed to look over the servants before he picked Mrs Amaro, who was attempting to hide her irritation. A false and rehearsed smile crossed her face as she nodded and followed him off. Blaine walked down the stairs slowly and in silence. Kurt looked so deathly afraid right now that it was heart breaking to watch. Dave turned his head to the servants, his eyes landing on Kurt.

"I'll take this kid." The smirk on Dave's face had been noticed by, not only Kurt, but Blaine and Maria. Mr Anderson nodded and moved towards Kurt, who still had not shown any signs of movement.

"What are you waiting for, boy?" Questioned Mr Anderson harshly. When Kurt still did not move, he was pushed. Unfortunately this meant he stumbled into Dave, who caught him by the upper arms. "Oh, Dave, I do apologise." Said Mr Anderson.

"Not to worry, sir," Dave said with an almost sadistic smile. "I'll be off now." Blaine noticed how tightly Dave was holding onto Kurt, his knuckles were turning rapidly white and veins were as clear as day on the back of his hand.

"Excuse me," Blaine said, stepping into their path. "Don't you think you're holding him a bit too tight? You're hurting him." He saw Dave raise a mocking eyebrow, a hint of confusion and surprise becoming evident.

"Blaine." His father scolded. But Blaine wasn't letting up; he kept an intense but polite gaze on the boy before him. Kurt kept quiet but he was trying to catch Blaine's eye, so he could throw him a warning look.

"I'm sorry," Dave started, his voice light and sarcastic. He turned his eyes onto Kurt. "Am I hurting you?"

"Of course not, sir." Kurt was a good actor. Had Blaine not known the boy, he would have been fooled. But he saw the evidence of Kurt's lying, because when he had given – which could only have been an attempt at –a reassuring smile, it had not reached his eyes.

"Now then," Dave turned his gaze back to Blaine, whose expression had not changed. "If you will excuse us." The silence was suffocating, it was so thick that you could cut the silence with a knife. After what felt like forever Blaine stepped to one side and allowed them to pass him. But he wasn't about to give up there, certainly not. There was a connection with Kurt and the Karofsky family, and he was determined to figure it out.

**0000**

**Part two – I'm the hero of this story. **

_Rain. I've always hated it. Well, maybe 'always' is a bit of an exaggeration. I didn't mind it for a while, but after my mum died I couldn't help but feel pure hatred whenever the world was darkened and damp from the rain. Silly really, you'd think that I'd have a lot more to talk about considering it's my fifteenth birthday. But no, here I am complaining about the rain. Oh well. I'd just been to the hospital you see. Working means that I can pay small instalments in order to keep my dad in the hospital. If I go out of work again then they'll force him out onto the streets with me… Again. _

"_Hummel," I turned my head to see the footman looking at me with a mask of indifference. "The young master wants to see you." I felt my blood run cold. I've had intolerable masters before, ones that left me with an uncomfortable feeling. But Dave Karofsky was different. When he saw me there were so many emotions I didn't recognise. Of course I noticed the anger, the hate, and the disgust. But what was the one look that made him look at me a second longer than he needed to? When I could practically feel his eyes burning holes in my back as I left? Whatever it was, it was different and unsettled me. _

_**He never ever saw it coming at all**_

_I nodded to him and took a deep breath before making my way to Karofsky's room. I knocked on the door and heard a gruff voice calling out for me to come in. He knew it was me, he always seemed to know. Never did he think that I might not come to him when he asked, never did he assume another servant would come in my place. I opened the door and stepped into the room, once inside I proceeded to close the door again. _

"_About time." The subtle venom in his voice was one thing that made him similar to previous masters. It did not faze me. I simply looked at him, I never had the chance to respond before he was already speaking again. "Clear this mess up." At first I didn't know what he meant. His room was immaculate. Then I noticed what he meant. His bed was untidy, he had a tray of half-eaten food and an unfinished coffee. But most of all, his trousers were coated up to the knees in mud. He had a habit of going for walks and returning coated in mud. He did it on purpose, I'm sure of it. He could just keep to the path, but somehow he ends up walking the muddied fields instead. I walked over to the trousers and picked them up, sighing softly at the mess. It took a lot of effort to get mud out of clothes, my hands were still sore from the last time I had scraped away all the grime. _

"_Not again." I mumbled quietly under my breath. I never assumed that he would hear me, considering I was at the other side of the room and had spoken so quietly. _

"_What was that?" He growled so suddenly that I dropped the fabric onto the white floor, tainting the pure colour. _

_**He never ever saw it coming at all**_

_He was by my side in an instant, face red in anger. Way too much anger for it to have been caused by a simple mistake such as this. I quickly picked the trousers up again and draped them over the back of the dark chair where they had rested previously. He was close. I moved back, and he moved forward. I was in the corner, but he was still coming closer. _

"_I'm sorry, sir," I exclaimed quickly. "I meant no harm." _

"_It's your job to clear up my mess, got it?" He glared down at me. "You're pathetic, maybe we should just fire you!"_

"_No!" I cried out, making the mistake of putting my hand on his arm. "Please, I need to pay for my dad's hospital bills!" But he had gripped my wrist tightly. I gasped in surprise. This was not the first time that he had harmed me, and I always knew the last time would be when I either get fired, quit, or die. Grim thoughts, don't you think? Well, it's a grim time. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. "Let go of me!" I shrieked, yanking my arm back – releasing myself from his grip. I didn't stop there, I also pushed him back ever so slightly. He stumbled and looked at me in surprise. Well, now I'm in for it. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. He came at me, grabbed my head in his hands and kissed me deeply. Tears burned in my eyes as I felt myself become trapped in the corner, his body blocking any hopes of escaping. My first kiss… _

_**He never ever saw it coming at all**_

_He pulled back and looked at me. Now I understood that mysterious emotion in the back of his eyes. Lust. I could only stare. A blurry figure moved in closer, but I pushed it away. Tears were making it impossible to see straight. At least they didn't fall. I refused to let the rain fall, I hate it after all. I briefly saw the hurt cross his face before he took a step back himself. _

"_You tell anyone about this and I will kill you." He growled. I just stared at him. What else could I have done? I couldn't leave, I'd never be able to pay the hospital otherwise. _

_**It's alright**_

_**It's alright**_

_I didn't tell my dad about the kiss. The last thing he needed was to worry about me being sexually harassed. Wow, it's a scary thought when I think of it like that. He knew that Karofsky was violent, but he always knew that I could handle it. He may not like it, but there's no other choice. With everything that's happened, things still don't seem easier. I'm fifteen and I'm already an adult. I might as well be, because I stopped being a child after I saw my mum lying on the ground. I hate to cry in front of anyone, but I couldn't help it. My shoulders are too small to carry everything alone. I sat on the side of my dad's bed, doubled over and crying. He was sat up, rubbing my back and kissing my head. _

"_It's alright, son, it's going to be alright."_

_**It's alright**_

_**It's alright**_

"_Damn," I mumbled through my shaking sobs. "It's raining again. I hate the rain." _

"_Kurt?" He said softly. "It's not raining…" I slowly lifted my head, my tears gliding silently down my cheeks. _

"_It definitely is…" I said, lifting my head up as though convincing myself that the water on my face was just rain and not tears. Maybe I would have believed it better had I been outside._

_**It's alright**_

_**It's alright**_

"_You done yet, homo?" Karofsky asked from the other side of the room. I raised my head at the degrading term of address. How ironic. _

"_Ironic that you're being prejudice against me when you're the same." I pointed out stupidly. Well, I never claimed to be sensible. He glared and showed me his fist as he rose to his feet. _

"_**You **__kissed __**me**__!" He raged. I rolled my eyes. _

"_I'm not going to hold it over you," I said. "But you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are." _

"_I am __**not **__like you!" I blinked and a dull pain formed in the back of my head. Great, my back is against the wall again. "You don't know anything, so you better shut your mouth!" He had a tight grip on my arms. It was getting tighter, and tighter. Ow… _

_**Hey, open wide, here comes original sin**_

"_I didn't do anything!" I exclaimed to Mr Karofsky, who frowned at me with his arms crossed. The other servants were behind me but did not speak up. I didn't blame them. If they had spoken then they would be on the streets too. "He attacked me and I pushed him back, sir. Please, I need this job, my dad will die if I can't bring in some money." There was no sympathy. He didn't even know my name, a lot of the time he questioned me on who I was when he saw me around. He never could remember his servants, he could never recognise them. _

"_My son has a bump on the back of his head that you caused." He said simply, as though his mind was already made up. _

"_It was self-defence, sir!" I was panicking now. I couldn't lose my job. Losing my job would mean losing my dad. I didn't care what I had to suffer through if it meant that my dad would remain alive. _

"_I am sorry, Hummel, but we have already hired your replacement." _

_**Hey, open wide, here comes original sin**_

The memories from the past were bitter as the events played in my head. Karofsky was a guest now at the Anderson home. If I want to keep my job here, then I have to make sure that Karofsky doesn't inform Mr Anderson of our past. I have no choice, I need to stay in his good graces – if that was even remotely possible. I felt like I had back then, back two years ago. A scared kid who wasn't treated like a kid. The grip on my right upper arm was getting tighter, harsher.

**It's alright**

**It's alright**

I'll be alright. I can do this. I know that I'm stronger than him, maybe not physically but certainly in every other aspect. He would not last a day in my position. I have to remember that. I can't let him dehumanise me any further.

**It's alight**

**It's alright**

"Wait!" I turned my head as Karofsky came to a stop beside me. Blaine was running up to us. He was panting slightly when he caught up to us. "Dave," He started. "Look, you know me and you know I don't appreciate you treating anyone harshly."

"Anderson," He replied with an amused tone. This would not end well. I don't know if I could keep silent if he started to bad mouth, or hurt Blaine in front of me. "I don't understand your fascination with scum like this." He jerked my arm slightly when he said that. I saw Blaine give me a soft look.

**It's alright**

**It's alright**

"Could you at least release him and let him walk with you?" He asked. "It isn't like he is going to run off if you let go." I raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dave, who frowned slightly but obliged. "Do you mind if I speak to him before you go? Privately?" Silence hung in the air once again. I was surprised when Dave moved and waited at the other end of the corridor. "Are you alright?" He asked me. I couldn't help but give a gentle smile.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you, Blaine." I saw him smile in return. Though his smile didn't last long.

"Do you have a past with him?" I could practically hear the uncertainty in his voice. I didn't want to lie to him, I felt like I couldn't. I could trust that he wouldn't say anything to get me fired. But still, that didn't stop me from hesitating before I replied.

"He's my previous master, and was very aggressive. I had pushed him away from me once and he banged his head and blamed me. That was how I ended up on the streets." I had whispered all of this, just in case someone had heard me. His expression turned to horror and… was that concern?

"I'll get him away from you, Kurt, I'll figure out a way for you to not have to deal with him." He was rambling and talking fast. I love it when he does this. Wait… love it? That thought came out of nowhere… Anyway, I simply smiled.

"Thank you, Blaine, but I'll be fine." Before he had a chance to reply, I follow after Karofsky. I appreciate Blaine's concern, I really do, but this is my hill to climb alone. It has been a hill that I have been climbing for a long time.

**I'm the hero of this story, don't need to be saved.**

**0000**

**References:**

**Poem: 'One Fine day in the middle of the night' (Journal version). **

**Song: Hero by Regina Spektor. **


	6. Courage is--

"_Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward." - Kurt Vonnegut._

**0000 **

Kurt took a deep breath, standing outside the door to the guest room. He was aware of Karofsky looming over him from behind. He could feel the hatred mixed with a burning lust radiate off of him, strangling and taunting him. He hated this situation; he was convinced that Karofsky was Kurt's own weakness personified. He could do nothing to Karofsky, could not stop him, and could not say anything in his own defence. Sad really… The world makes a decision on his life before he even exists. The world sees his family, or lack of it, and immediately judges based on wealth. Had circumstances been different he could have been an influential person who may have cured many illnesses. The laws in place, however, had prevented this from being possible – because there was no equality. Because of his low status he could never afford school, and so the only job possible was to be a servant. Humans made the laws that caused suffering among their own kind, and it is humans that can help ease that suffering and allow their fellow humans a chance at life. Life may not always be kind, but it is made easier by the way some humans treat each other.

"Hurry up!" Snarled Karofsky, snapping Kurt out of his thoughts.

**There are so many ways to be brave in this world**

The doors opened and Karofsky stepped into the room. Kurt gathered his composure and tilted his head up high. He forced himself into the room and reluctantly closed the door. The silence was back and even more suffocating than he had remembered. Kurt had continued to be Karofsky's servant for slightly less than a year after the kiss incident, and it had certainly been hard. After being thrown out several months before his sixteenth birthday Kurt had kept his father in the hospital, promising to pay the instalments as soon as his master paid him. Of course the doctors and nurses did not know that the payments were on hold until he could find work again.

**Sometimes bravery involves laying down your life for something bigger than yourself, or for someone else**

"How have you been, lady?" Karofsky taunted, leaning against one of the walls. Kurt, who had been facing the door, now turned to Karofsky with a mask of indifference. "How's your dad?" The question was odd. Though it was painful and brought up tragic memories for Kurt, Karofsky seemed to be asking a genuine question – yet the sincerity could not be seen because of the tone he had chosen. The hurt and pain washed over Kurt, slapping the mask away and allowing the emotions to become visible.

"He's dead." He said flatly, proud of himself for not allowing his voice to shake. His glassy eyes shined with unshed tears. He regarded Karofsky, who looked stunned. "They allowed him to stay in the hospital but refused to treat him until I could pay them. I was fired by your father so I could not pay for several months." Once again the silence had returned. Kurt was wordlessly reconstructing his mask defiantly as Karofsky simply stared. For a moment there seemed to be pity in his eyes.

"Oh, man," He said quietly. "I'm sorry…" The only problem was that Karofsky was across the room and had spoken in a whisper. His lips were moving but Kurt could register no sound.

"Pardon?" He asked. Karofsky, who had almost let slip his show of remorse, quickly restored his own mask. The cruel smirk struck so many angry and miserable emotions within Kurt, who could only stand still and do nothing. His father was everything to him, especially after his mother died. He thought back to all the years he'd been a servant. With the exception of Karofsky's other servants, Kurt had made friends with every servant he had ever worked with. But because of the cruelty of his masters, he was forced to leave them. When hired by Mr Anderson he had wondered how long it would take before he was on the streets again… Maybe this would be coming recently considering that Karofsky was now here.

**Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you have ever loved, for the sake of something greater.**

When given no answer, Kurt simply walked to the other side of the room and pulled back the curtains a little more. He attached them to the sides of the frame, allowing the light to flow into the room. He heard movement behind him, and without turning he knew that Karofsky had pushed off the wall and moved to stand behind him.

"Have you told anyone about what you did?" He asked darkly. Kurt closed his eyes in an attempt to fight off the demons of his mind that wanted nothing more than to force him to remember the incident. After a slow and deep breath he turned to him.

"I told no-one that you kissed me and proceeded to get me fired out of fear." He said simply. Karofsky's face turned red, although more from the memory of the kiss than anything else.

**But sometimes it doesn't.**

"You've gotten brave," He said darkly, his eyes locked on the boy before him. "You're daring to talk to me in such a way?" Kurt squared his shoulders.

"It is the only way you will understand." And with that Karofsky put his hands on Kurt's chest and shoved him back. Kurt tumbled onto the window seat behind him. Before he was allowed to get over the initial shock, Karofsky seized him by his shirt and slammed his back against the wall. He was held firmly in place as his eyes scrunched up in pain.

"Now," Karofsky started mockingly. He tightened his grip, his fists heavy against Kurt's chest. "Where's that bravery now?" He said nothing, he kept his mouth shut. "Well?" He was pulled from the wall and slammed into it again, a gasp escaping his lips involuntarily. The air rushed out of his lungs as he fought to gain it back. Karofsky sneered in sadistic pleasure at this.

**Sometimes it is nothing more than gritting your teeth through pain, and the work of every day, the slow walk toward a better life.**

_I can't speak. I can't breathe. I can't do anything other than fight without words or violence. Stay silent, play the victim in pain. Karofsky likes it when I fight back, but I suffer less physical pain if I keep my mouth shut. My back hits the wall again._

His back hits the wall again, the pain is familiar.

_I should have listened to myself. I shoved Karofsky away and now he has hit his head. I'm sure to be fired. Bravery isn't about violence or harsh words; it's about facing both those things without needing to use them. I hope to realise this in the future._

Kurt had learned from his mistakes. He wouldn't battle his way through this with violence, not when there was something to lose. He'd stay strong; he'd show him that he could not be broken. And so he endured, because he had too.

**That is the sort of bravery I must have now.**

Thankfully, Karofsky had grown bored at Kurt's lack of response. After being released Kurt waited in the room should his temporary master need anything. However the time he spent around Karofsky continued to get worse. He felt his courage slipping away as Karofsky's snide comments or actions seemed to amplify in Kurt's mind. He would invite Kurt to sit down and then ask him questions, questions he knew would provoke a reaction.

"You never went to school or had a teacher, did you?" The question felt ten times worse coming from him. He hated this kind of harassment – the kind that didn't seem like it to anyone else. It was the kind that seemed like casual conversation yet was coated in a hidden meaning. Karofsky was questioning his intelligence.

"I never went to school," He confirmed. "But my mother taught me what I needed to know." The answer was stiff.

"You think she'd be happy with how her precious little boy's life turned out?" It was situations like this where Kurt's confidence and bravery began to tarnish. His own fears spoken by someone else seemed like confirmation of a question he did not want answered. He had felt like his parents may be disappointed, so to hear this was hard. How could he answer? He had settled for less than he deserved in life because he had no choice. Or was this exactly what he deserved? Now he could not be sure. He'd lost control of his mind, and now he was unnerved.

"_I can do this. What is the matter with me? Snap out of it!" _He pleaded in his own mind.

"I mean, who would want someone as weak as you?" Karofsky pointed out with a casual wave of the hand. Kurt turned his eyes to him. They were facing each other, but were so close that their knees were almost touching. Karofsky chuckled and Kurt jumped to his feet – Karofsky following.

"I am not weak." He said firmly, feigning confidence. Karofsky stepped closer with raised eyebrows. He jabbed a finger on Kurt's chest, making the smaller boy freeze. Slowly the finger travelled down his torso, jabbing painfully. Kurt's eyes were wide, the rims of his eyes slowly turning red as though he was going to cry. He felt violated. He didn't want to be touched and Karofsky knew that. There were no boundaries. If this man enjoyed hurting him but also felt lust for him, then there was no telling how far he would go. Kurt remembered how Karofsky could do anything to him and no-one would care or believe him because he is a servant. Suddenly Karofsky seized the smaller man's shirt as his smirk grew.

"Yes you are," He said gravely. "Try and stop me." But he couldn't, and both of them knew that. After a moment Kurt was roughly released. "Get out of my sight, you're dismissed until tomorrow." Kurt shakily left the room, pausing outside of the room with his back against the wall.

Blaine knew something was wrong the second he saw Kurt. Kurt had a habit of tilting his head up whenever something brought him down, it was his way of convincing himself that he'd be fine. But now Blaine observed how Kurt's head was tilted down and his eyes were closed. As he got closer he noticed Kurt's hands were shaking as they lay flat against the wall behind him. Slowly he put a gentle and steady hand on Kurt's shoulder, which startled the boy. Kurt flinched violently and moved away, fearing that Karofsky's father had remembered him and come to find him. But upon seeing Blaine he relaxed.

"Kurt?" Blaine spoke slowly. "You look shaken. Did he hurt you?" Kurt's eyes were looking anywhere but him, and Blaine noticed this was for a reason.

"Don't," Blaine said firmly, catching Kurt's attention. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Kurt asked hesitantly.

"You're trying to hide your emotions. You're going to insist you're fine and then walk away feeling awful on the inside." Blaine wanted nothing more than to kick Karofsky out of his home, and then comfort Kurt. It was ridiculous to let someone be so dehumanised just because of something out of their hands. Kurt just squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away. "Kurt, are you crying?" It shouldn't be a big deal that he was crying, he had cried in front of Blaine before. But it was hard, because the shame crushed him and Blaine's question had been the final blow. Once Blaine saw Kurt's shoulders shake he stepped forward and led him upstairs. Blaine opened the door to his own room and led Kurt inside, shutting the door behind them. He sat Kurt down. "Tell me what happened." Kurt did so, although it was hesitant and he left out the details regarding Karofsky's lust for him.

"I'm so weak," He spat. "I couldn't handle it."

"You're not weak, Kurt," Blaine said instantly as he knelt down in front of Kurt – who was slowly shrinking back into the chair he was sitting in. "It's normal to cry after something like this. Kurt, you've been strong for a long time – I've told you this before. You've always had courage." But Kurt just shook his head. Blaine looked at him and knew exactly how to communicate this message to him.

"_Courage is when you're afraid,_

_But you keep on moving anyway."_

Kurt closed his eyes tightly against the tears, but Blaine knew he was listening because his quiet sobs had subsided.

"_Courage is when you're in pain,_

_But you keep on living anyway."_

Slowly Kurt's eyes opened and shined with tears both old and new. He knew Kurt was in pain by the way he shuffled in his chair. Blaine took his hands but Kurt pulled them back slightly, his mind on what had happened with Karofsky. Blaine was slightly hurt by the action but he suspected that Kurt was still simply shaken.

"_We all have excuses why_

_Living in fear, something in us dies_

_Like a bird with broken wings_

_It's not how high he flies,_

_But the song he sings."_

Kurt looked down and started wiping his eyes silently.

"_Courage is when you're afraid,_

_But you keep on moving anyway_

_Courage is when you're in pain,_

_But you keep on living anyway."_

Kurt had wiped his eyes and face and looked as though he was going to protest, but Blaine shook his head.

"_You keep on living anyway."_

Blaine gently and hesitantly took Kurt's hands and helped him stand up. Kurt watched him curiously as Blaine locked eyes with him.

"_It's not how many times you've been knocked down_

_It's how many times you get back up." _

Kurt smiled softly as he listened to him. But a thought seemed to cross his mind and the smile slowly fell. He broke away from Blaine and turned towards the window and looked out. From behind him he could tell Blaine was singing in his direction still.

"_Courage is when you've lost your way,_

_But you find your strength anyway._

_Courage is when you're afraid_

_Courage is when it all seems grey_

_Courage is when you make a change,_

_And you keep on living anyway."_

Kurt turned to face him again, the words speaking to him in a way that he hadn't expected. Blaine walked up to him.

"_You keep on moving anyway_

_You keep on giving anyway,"_

Blaine held out his hands and Kurt smiled as he held them.

"_You keep on loving anyway."_

Kurt felt himself blush at that last line for some reason, but he didn't let go of Blaine's hands.

"You need to stop focussing on how others view you and the things you could have done but didn't," Blaine said calmly. "Focus on what you have done. You became independent way too early but still managed to survive. Everything you struggled through was for your dad, even if he isn't here anymore. You're strong because you make it through every day and still manage to carry a positive energy somehow. I mean, I can't help but feel happy when I'm around you." The smile was contagious. A new silence flooded the room, but it wasn't unwelcomed or unwanted. It was nice, it was peaceful. Blaine felt drawn to Kurt, and with this he leaned close and rested his lips against Kurt's. It was amazing. A love he had never felt before now filled his entire being as he felt Kurt kiss back. But then it ended. He stared at Kurt, who stared back. And then Kurt pulled away.

"I-I should go," He stuttered. "But thank you for the song, it meant more than you know." A flustered Kurt rushed to the door and out before he could be stopped. It was late now so only the servants would see him. He all but jumped down the steps leading to the basement as he entered the kitchen. He bumped into Mrs Amaro, quite literally. She must be done serving Mr Karofsky for the day.

"Kurt, honey?" She asked, blinking up at him. Kurt just hugged her tightly without thinking. He just needed someone who could fill a parental role for him, just for a moment. He was so lost and confused. He was scared but oddly happy by the kiss. In all of his years, all of the struggles and emotions, he had never experienced this. "It's going to be fine, love, I'm right here." She tenderly kissed his forehead. He pulled back after a while and admitted to her only what had happened with Karofsky – once again he left out the details surrounding the kiss. Mrs Amaro huffed angrily.

"That brat," She hissed. "Come on, dear, let me look at you." She took Kurt into the next room and got him to remove his shirt. She growled when she saw the bruises that painted his pale skin. She returned later with some ice. "Go lie down on your stomach and leave that on your back." He nodded and did so.

"Wait," He called before she left. "I know it is a lot to ask… But could you stay by my side, just for a moment?" Mrs Amaro gave him a warm smile as she sat by his bed side, gently stroking his hair in a motherly way.

"It is not a lot to ask. You're like the son I've always wanted," She cooed. "As long as I live and breathe you will always have someone to come back to after a long day." Kurt felt the smile begin to grow on his face as he closed his eyes.

"_I know it's been a long day, sweetie, but now you can sleep. I'll be right beside you." The voice was musical. A smooth hand stroked his hair as his eyes slid closed. Elizabeth Hummel sat by his side and fell asleep beside her little boy. _

Falling to sleep was something he had always dreaded as it meant the demons of his mind could torment him with nightmares. But this situation was so familiar. Falling to sleep this way made him feel like he had as a child, back before he had suffered the trauma of staring at his mother's lifeless body. He felt a warm glow in his chest that fought off his demons as he slept.

**References:**

"**There are so many ways to be brave in this world…" - ****'****Allegiant****'****by****Veronica Roth****.**

**Song: 'Courage is' by The Strange Familiar. **


End file.
